


Rope

by Hopetohell



Category: Sand Castle (2017)
Genre: D/s themes, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rope Bondage, Shibari, Smut, Sub!syverson, past trauma, soft smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:55:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28789080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/pseuds/Hopetohell
Summary: Strange. Wouldn’t’ve thought it would matter so much.Syverson tries his hand at shibari.
Relationships: Captain Syverson/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	Rope

_How’s that?_

Sy tests the ropes, flexing the muscles of his chest against the harness. He finds it unyielding, ropes pressing firm against him but not too tight and it’s alright. _Strange. Wouldn’t’ve thought it would matter so much._

_The ropes?_

The restraint. He’s so big and solid, warm under your hands, and yet there’s something cracked in him, something he stuffs down beneath a sultry drawl and that grin that says _lemme fuck you up in the best way._ But it’s there. It’s there in the memories that he disappears with once a week. It’s there in the scars all up his shins and the dresser drawer he doesn’t open. And it’s there in the one time you tried to cuff him, when he lasted all of two minutes before begging off. 

But this. _You don’t have to. Really. There’s so many other things we can try._

_Darlin. Sweetheart. I want to. I— I need to know._

And so here he is, ropes across his chest and over his shoulders, testing their feel against his skin. 

_Hey. It’ll be like I’m with you. Holding you._ And he smiles a bit at that because he does like the closeness; he needs to be able to move at all times but that doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate your arms around his torso or your cheek pressed to his back. 

Sy shrugs back into his clothes; if you look, you can just see the outline of rope under his worn tee. It drives a little ripple of interest through you, but above all else what you feel is 

Pride. For Sy, for the serious thought he’d put into this. For the time he’d spent actually sitting still long enough to really talk about it. About what he might want to try, and about what it might mean to each of you. Because it’s hard for him to admit, isn’t it, that some things are too much for him. Maybe for now, maybe for always. The admission digs underneath the ferocious masculinity he puts forth and tears open something precious inside him. 

_How about a reward, for doing so, so good for me? Sy, god, I’ve been wet for you this whole time. Thinking about the ropes under your clothes, about how your shirt must shift and catch on them. About how you can feel me on you with every movement. So. Can I ride you?_

And yes, _fuck, yes,_ he wants it and he strips til you can see the full expanse of him, thick and furred with hair, caged and caressed by rope. Til you can see the way he stands at attention, definitely _not_ whining at the feel of your hand delicate on his cock. And he will do many things for you but he will not beg; he’d sooner bite through his own tongue. And so you don’t wait for the please that you know won’t come; you grip him tight and sink down onto him right there on the living room floor. 

And maybe he can’t take the feel of being bound, or being restrained— but this. The way your fingertips curl carefully around the ropes, the way your hands flex under his when he covers them on his way to grip at your hips— this is good. This is—

_Safe._

_Yeah?_

_Yeah._ Safe like the rain falling outside, petrichor drifting through the open window. Safe like your fingers that brush gentle over his nipples, down and back to brace your hands against his thighs, back bowed, feeling him deep in you, feeling his thumbs on your belly, fingers curled protectively over your hips. 

_How do you want it, Sy? Hard or slow?_

_Slow, darlin. Wanna savor this._ And so you ride him slow, because he’s been 

so good, _you— ah— you deserve this. I’m so goddamned proud_ (for the ropes, for your trust, for your openness, for everything you’ve felt that’s hurt you but it hasn’t stopped you, for all those nights when you were half a world away, for everything). _Sy. Hey. Alright?_

_Alright, darlin._ And maybe he doesn’t say much, but there’s that pink blush burning down his neck; it’s a little embarrassment and a lot of pleasure. _Hey. Sweetheart. Can I bring you off?_ Yeah. Yeah, of course he can; whatever he wants on this earth, you’ll give to him. Sy asking for your pleasure is so little, so wonderful and inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. So he moves his hand to get his thumb on you; he lets go of your hips completely so he can cup your jaw in one big hand and lower you down for a kiss. Of course you let him; it’s closeness and sweetness and a gentle need. And so, bracketed by his hands at your clit and your cheek, you fall apart and feel him follow after. 

_Hey. C’mon. Sit up, let’s get you loose._ Not a mark on him, save for the indentations on his back from lying on the floor. And maybe somewhere softer would be better, but he’s already drawing you back down to lie on the rug. He’s already got one thick arm draped across your belly; he’s already nuzzling sleepily into your neck. 

_Darlin. Sweetheart._

_Mmm. How do you feel?_

_It’s— you were kinda right, about how it felt. But I gotta— let’s just lie here for a little while, alright?_ And you can feel him thinking about it but you’ll let it go; his breath is slow and even and when you wriggle back against him he makes a soft pleased hmm. And he thinks, and drifts, and together you sigh into sleep.


End file.
